Stupid
by Yellowfur
Summary: Troy knows he's stupid. He can tell because of the stupid actions and stupid thoughts that he can't seem to stop. Maybe he'll stop them one day, just for Abed, and for no one else... Rated T for swearing and mention of suicide.


You don't know how awkward it is to be alone in a Starbucks until you're actually really alone at a Starbucks.

I never paid those old dudes much mind, the ones chilling with their lattes with the little plastic tops off, and their New York Times and whatever spread out all over the table. I just really thought they were always waiting for someone. But now I sort of... I feel those old dudes now. They're not really waiting for anybody, they're just chilling. I figured that out because I looked at them a lot, and then I looked at me a lot, and I'm acting way different from these old dudes with the New York Times and coffees. The reason we're acting way different, I'm thinking, is because I'm waiting for someone. And they're not.

Only now I don't remember if I told Abed I was going to meet him here or in another Starbucks, or somewhere else that's not even a Starbucks. What if it really isn't this Starbucks? Then I'll just be standing here all day waiting for him!

That would be weird, now that I think about it, to be in a perpetual state of waiting for someone... is that what _Waiting for Godot_ is about? Britta was talking about it in drama class the other day. I can't even pronounce Godot, so I don't think I'd like that play because I don't think I'd get it. Britta said I should try reading plays - she said I'm a really good performer and I'm comfortable onstage, so maybe I'd understand plays better than I could understand books. And I can't understand books very well. So yeah, maybe I will read some plays. I think it'll make Britta all proud of herself and shit if I finally understood something and it was because of her. We're friends, so maybe she'd just be proud that I understood something. But I don't really think that'd happen... I don't really know why. I just don't.

I could call Abed. But I did. Like five minutes ago. Just to tell him I was here. He didn't pick up. Damn, why didn't I write it down somewhere?

Whenever Annie makes plans, she writes it down in that little planner she has, the purple one with the spirals... I like the color of it. It's an awesome purple. And yeah, whenever Jeff has plans, he puts it in his phone. Do I even have a planner? I think I have a planner. I should definitely get one, so then whenever I make plans with someone, I'll remember where I met them. And I really do need a planner or some sort of organizer, or something. I need one. It'll help me sort out all the stuff I gotta think about, and I really always feel like I have so much to think about. See, I really do think. I think a lot. No one ever thinks... I'm thinking, yeah, no one ever thinks I'm thinking... it sounds weird to imagine someone _thinking_ of another person _thinking_.

And now I'm thinking about that, when I really should just focus on trying to remember where I told Abed I'd meet him before we see that movie at seven. I mean, it's only about ten 'til six, so I don't care about missing the movie right now, I just care about not screwing over Abed. I think I'm going to have a seat so I look like one of the chilling dudes with the New York Times and coffee. Then I won't look like someone forgot about me... even if I'm the one who forgot. I just hope no one notices this frappucino doesn't have any coffee in it.

I told someone once, I think it was Jeff, how Abed's the only person I really really _really_ care about not screwing over. I mean, it's not like I want to make anyone else cry or anything, but I lately more than ever, I keep getting this weird thought. Whenever I make plans or think about the future or what classes I want to take, I just think to myself that I better think about what Abed would like or what would make Abed happy. We're bros, yeah, but that doesn't really explain it... I've had other bros and I didn't care as much about not screwing them over. And Jeff was listening to me, and he told me that didn't make any sense. Jeff was like, what are friends for if they hurt you by acting all hurt if you happen to screw them over once? Jeff said I shouldn't completely forget about my friends' feelings, but since I'm so tight with Abed, I shouldn't have to always think about his feelings so much. And I told Jeff at the time that maybe I cared so much because maybe Abed was the only one who didn't act like I was so stupid all the time. And Jeff said that I was probably wrong, and Abed probably does act like that and I don't even see it.

It's five-fifty nine. The last old guy just walked out with his New York Times. At least now no one will be comparing me to old white dudes.

Maybe Jeff's right and Abed does really act like that, but somehow it still doesn't really hurt my feelings. I know I'm stupid. Shirley tells me I'm all these other words for it - in that mom voice of hers - but I know it's true, or my teachers and my grandma wouldn't say it so much. I mean, I don't really think I'm as stupid as everyone acts like I am... I _get_ stuff sometimes. Like I _got_ how when Jeff said that about how Abed acts, it was a mean thing to say. I got it, I got how mean it was. I got how mean it was so well, that I threw my book out the dorm room window when I went back that night because I was so pissed off after I realized what he said. And then I had to run outside and get my textbook. And when Abed came back, I told him a raccoon crashed into the window. And Abed told me he knew I was lying, and that he knew someone must have said something to make me angry and I really shouldn't do that stuff when I'm angry.

I love stirring the whipped cream into my frappucino because when I get to the part where it's stirred in, it's pretty much the best-tasting thing ever. Even better than the frosting-and-pop-tarts cake Abed showed me how to make. And it's past six PM, and we said five-forty-five (_that_ I remember), so the fact that it tastes so good makes me feel a little less nervous about the fact that I might have made Abed unhappy tonight.

When Abed told me that stuff after seeing the broken window, see, that's what I really mean when I say that I _know_ Abed thinks I'm stupid, but I don't care that he thinks that because he doesn't really treat me like I'm some special education kid for it. He knows I'm stupid, but he's still my bro and he we still have tons of fun. Everyone else seems to think they can't do things with me or talk a lot to me because I won't be able to keep up with them. Abed just tells me what I should do that _isn't_ stupid. And that's it right there! Abed is the only one who doesn't treat me like that, like I'm stupid so I'm not worth a lot of effort, and so Abed is the only one who I don't want to always be screwing over because Abed is the only one who if he went away, I don't think I could deal with it. I'd throw so much shit out of the windows. I'd break other people's dorm windows. I'd go to the highest floor of the dorms where there are a few empty dorm rooms and throw shit out of those windows just because it makes me feel so much better when shit falls from a long way up. I don't know why, it just does. I know that because I've been going upstairs like once a week for a month now to throw shit through windows.

It's six-oh-five and I'm freaking out a bit.

Thinking of Abed just splitting because he realizes how much effort it takes to get me to understand books and Jeff's talking and everything else, that's the stuff that makes me go throw shit from the windows on the highest floors. And look at the shit on the ground, how it all fell apart, how the books lost their binding and glue and whatever holds books together, and how the coffee mugs from Goodwill just go _freaking everywhere_ on the grass outside. And then I go outside in the night and clean the broken pieces of everything up and I throw it out. And sometimes I used to wonder why it makes me happier to do that, but I figured it out, I figured it out that I'm stupid and that violent things make stupid men feel better, like Britta always says when she reads the newspaper.

It's six-oh-eight and I want to cry.

I don't like that I'm so stupid that only violent shit makes me feel better when people piss me off. I don't like thinking about that, even while I'm doing it. The more I think about how it makes me feel better, it makes me want to make other people feel better instead. But the only thing that I think would make people feel better about my stupid crap is if I stop throwing shit out of windows. But I can't stop, and then I wonder that maybe it would make people feel better if I just threw myself out of the window. If they had to clean up the stupid kid instead of having to spend money on another Goodwill mug.

And then Abed appears. "Hi, Troy. I'm sorry I'm late. Pierce needed to use my phone to make a long-distance call, and he didn't really get how to work my keypad very well. Or my cell phone in general, because he somehow didn't get that he didn't need the keypad to make the call. Are you okay?"

"I thought we were meeting at five-forty-five."

"We were going to, but then in that conversation later we said six because we were going to celebrate The Lonely Island's new album coming out by buying Mr. Pibb and Red Vines at the deli first."

"Right. Damn."

"Let's go now because the deli is a couple blocks away."

"Right."

"You should get a planner, Troy."

"I will."

"I wish there was a Magnolia bakery around here, then we could stop for cupcakes..."


End file.
